Then, approving the cover art. I get to help with that. and with the marketing. I suppose I don't have to; that's all part of the publisher's marketing. But it's something I need to know anyway. Every author should. You should always know the business end of the publishing industry if you're going to play in it. So, I want to be part of the marketing. I'll always bow to the professionals, but making suggestions about newer places to market and knowing how to deal with them is in my best interests. My great publisher knows that.
Still working on the second book in the trilogy. It's coming along quite nicely. I crossed over into 38K words and still going. Word count is a measuring tool to keep track of length. My progress but also because the word count will tell me if we'll be able to release this in print. Any book has to hit a certain word count to make it profitable to print. So, we measure in word count. That's where I am right now.
Finishing up a chapter with a bit of destruction that Tom and his new partner, Alex Westerfield, had to investigate. Tom is not a field agent but he's learning to hold his own. Alex is not a computer agent but he's learning from Tom. They work well together. And I like having them together.
A little excerpt? Enjoy!
Westerfield parked the
car and turned off the engine. Tom didn’t wait; he was out of the car the
moment it came to a stop. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, feeling the doom of
the place. Paramedic squads were still pulling onto the street, as close as
they could be to the carnage. People were still being led out of the building, blankets
draped over drooping shoulders. Bloody faces and clothing. Tears streaking dirty
cheeks. Tom felt the gut punch as, one by one, each person was led away, in
shock and the look of terror on their faces. He stood, motionless, feeling
absolutely helpless…and reminded himself of his purpose here. The feeling was
gone and the agent went to work.
He had to wait for
Westerfield; he had no FBI credentials and no authority to enter the crime
scene. Westerfield flashed his badge
and introduced Tom as the FBI’s consultant, and the locals waved them inside.
“We gotta get you some
kind of ID, dude.” Westerfield shook his head. “I can’t be tagging along on
everything and if you’re gonna be on the job consulting….”
“I’m not a field
agent,” Tom answered.
“Well, you just became
one, Dude.” Westerfield pointed toward a group of men, dressed in white
jumpsuits, white booties on their feet. A tall redheaded woman, similarly
attired and wearing what appeared to be safety glasses, was dispensing orders
and conferring with her team. “Local
forensics. Go see what they got. See what you can find out.”
“Think they’ll talk to me?”
Westerfield grinned.
“Flash ‘em your MI5 badge. Tell ‘em our suspect is a Brit. They’ll tell you
anything you want to know.”
~*~
